


I’m Willing To Let Go

by BrightTerror



Series: BrightTerror's 2020 Whumptober [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Gen, He will be okay even if the tags seem bad i promise, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm Bright is a Danger Magnet, Malcolm is not having a great time, Nightmares, Prodigal Son season 1 finale spoilers, Restraints, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightTerror/pseuds/BrightTerror
Summary: Day 1 of whumptober 2020: LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME (Waking Up Restrained | Shackled)"He frowned and immediately tried to move when the second warning bell blared in his head: those were not his restraints."
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: BrightTerror's 2020 Whumptober [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948378
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	I’m Willing To Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work for the whumptober challenge! I hope y'all enjoy! :D  
> Thanks to the awesome @Klargreeves (on tumblr) for helping me beta read this fic.

He didn’t realise he was in danger at first. 

Malcolm’s morning started as any other; he woke up screaming from one of his nightmares. His night terrors revolving around his father or one of his victims that Malcolm could not save were fairly common for him, however this time he had been trapped inside his dreaming mind with another killer: His sister, Ainsley. It had been two months since he witnessed his little sister slice Endicott’s neck and then viciously finished murdering him by stabbing him until he fell to the ground. 

Logically, he knew why she did it, she was protecting him, his mother and herself; Endicott was a threat to her family, and she did what she had to do. Emotionally, however, Malcolm was having a harder time processing it. The unhelpful parts of his brain kept asking the one question he did not want an answer to: if she did it because she was Martin’s daughter, if she did it because she was a natural born killer - just like their father - and if that was the case, what hope was there for him? So it went without saying that Malcolm’s subconscious fed that idea by giving Malcolm multiple nightmares regarding Ainsley becoming a serial killer.

So, Malcolm didn’t fret as much as he would by waking up screaming and gasping, that was normal for him. What was also normal for him was waking up shackled to his bed due to his restraints so he would not hurt himself when he slept, so he did not notice anything out of the ordinary at first. He had his eyes closed and was stabilizing his breathing before he started his day, as he usually did. 

Which is why it took him way too long to realise that something was  _ wrong _ . His first clue was realising that the spot where he was laying down did not feel like his bed. He frowned and immediately tried to move when the second warning bell blared in his head: those were not  _ his  _ restraints. He has had two decades of being shackled to sleep to know the ones that are holding him right now are not the ones that uncuff easily. His third clue to realising something is terribly wrong was the throbbing pain at the side of his head that he was only now noticing. 

Immediately, he opened his eyes to scout his surroundings, he noticed he was in some sort of basement with no visible windows or escape routes. The walls were covered in some old, broken blue wallpaper that has been graffitied through time. Malcolm became slightly relieved that at least this time he isn’t in a basement that looks like the one John Watkins kept him in, he really didn’t want to relieve that again. 

The more aware he became of his surroundings the faster he began to profile the place, trying to recall anything as to why he ended there in the first place. He winced, realising that he must have a hell of a blow to his head. His head is slowly killing him and he couldn’t remember anything about the last few hours.  _ If it has been that long, who knows how long I’ve been here _ , he thought. 

The last thing he remembered was talking to Gil, Dani and JT at the precinct about their new case; someone had been killing young men. They found the victims with signs of torture on their bodies… whoever caught him must have been the one behind it.

Malcolm tried to look for anything sharp that might get him out of his restraints when a door opened. He immediately froze and turned to the direction of the sound. 

A man walked in. He had a shaggy beard and dark hair, and was carrying a heavy bag. He saw Malcolm was awake and chuckled. “Took you long enough. I started to think I hit you too hard and you wouldn’t wake… It would have been a shame since I was looking forward to having some fun together.” He put his bag down and it hit the ground with clacking sounds. Malcolm figured whatever was inside is what was used to torture the past victims. He gulped nervously. 

“How long was I knocked off?” He had no idea what to say. Usually he would get away with these situations by profiling the killer to make time until backup got in the way, but he could not remember a thing of the initial profile he had and his head was hurting too much to try and profile on the spot. Besides, he didn’t even know how he got there so there was no guarantee that backup was on the way... He didn’t even know if Gil knew he was gone in the first place. 

“Couple of hours. Usually the others come back to their senses much quicker. That’s why I choose young men, they heal faster and can endure more.” The man laughed. 

Malcolm hid a relieved smile. If he had been gone a couple of hours then Gil  _ definitely _ knew he was gone. There was hope he would be found before it was too late. He didn’t have a chance to answer back when he saw the killer take out a metal bat from his bag. “So, that’s how it’s going to be then?” He tried to sound casual and spared a glance at the bat before turning his gaze back to the man. 

“This?” He patted the bat and shook his head. “This is just to get started. I like to begin with the softer things before moving on to the more  _ interesting _ ones. The guy before you was tougher than he seemed. He survived the water torture, the teeth ripping, the beatings. Yet he still was  _ weak _ enough to not endure the burns. It was a shame he gave up so soon. I was having fun with that one.” The man monologued.

“So, is that what you want? Someone to endure your various torture experiments for  _ fun _ ?” Malcolm tried to disguise his disgust.

The man shrugged. “Everyone has their hobbies.” He grabbed the bat tighter and walked closer to Malcolm.

He closed his eyes and covered his head to avoid further damage to his face and brain as the metallic bar swung at him. He could feel the metal hit against his ribcage and back over and over again and all he could do is try to endure it long enough until he found a way out of there. 

Malcolm didn’t know how long he had been there, but he was sure he had a few bruised or broken ribs and half his face was swollen. He had lost count how many torture devices had been used at him so far and to be honest with himself he did not have much hope he would last much longer. He wasn’t thinking straight anymore, all his words blurred together when he tried to say anything coherent. 

The killer left for a while after their last torture session and Malcolm was dreading his return. Which is why, when he heard the door open once more and saw the killer stroll in with his new torture device, his brain and soul shattered just a little bit more. 

He had lost hope that he could make it out of there by himself after the third beating, but still counted on his team finding him. 

After his fourth beating and his first round of waterboarding he wasn’t as convinced he would make it, but he still believed in his team. He believed in Gil. 

After his beatings, the waterboarding and the shock machine, he came to the horrible conclusion he might never see any of his family again, he would never talk to Gil. He would never have family dinners with Ains and his mother... or banter with JT about the origins of his friend’s actual name... he would most likely never share candy with Dani after his therapy appointments or talk with Edrisa about whatever odd subject they had in mind each week. 

And now? Now he lost all hope of being found alive, but even at his lowest, he knew his team would find his body eventually… and there was something comforting about that statement for Malcolm, that _at_ _least_ his family would have some sort of closure when he - _his body_ \- was found. 

He let out a relieved breath once he accepted it and slumped back against the wall. He closed his eyes and his brain supplied him that one daily affirmation he had all those months ago. He thought it was fitting for him during those last few coherent moments of his life. 

_ I’m willing to let go…. _

He was ready to embrace the darkness that wanted to succumb him for a while. 

Then he heard it. It was distant, but it was there. 

_ “NYPD! Put the weapon down!” _

Malcolm didn’t hear the rest as he succumbed to unconsciousness, but he smiled because now he knew the next time he woke up he would be okay… He was going to make it after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Eyy, so this is the first whumptober fic of mine, if you like it please leave a comment! those give me inspiration to write more :D  
> I will most likely write Prodigal Son and Criminal Minds the most for this challenge so if you like those fandoms you can subscribe to my BrightTerror's 2020 whumptober series! 
> 
> I have 13 prompts done so far, not in order, but I am looking forward to post them each day! Hope every single one of you people who is reading this have an amazing day! 
> 
> If you want to come and chat find me on Tumblr as: @BrightTerror (My writing blog) or @Sherlock-Freud (My prodigal son blog)


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